The Importance of Friends
by The Phantom of Quill and Ink
Summary: A story where Eric and other lovable characters from all the Andrew Lloyd Webber musicals take part and have an amazing and exciting adventure. Please R&R. COMPLETED!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer - I do not own any of the amazing characters that Andrew Lloyd Webber has created in The Phantom of the Opera, but i've got a plot he doesn't know about manical laughter

Chapter 1 Rats in the Opera House

M. Firman sighed as he scratched his head sadly. Life was beginning to get extremely difficult, almost unbearable. Affairs of the _Opera Populair_ were becoming complicated an twisted. Who knew what the damned Phantom would demand next? M. Andre had even taken to calling him "his Lordship"! He picked up the letters on his desk and began to rifle through them reluctantly. There were several bills and some fan mail and one or two complaints. He ignored all of these. Andre would deal with them.

But underneath a particularly official and threatning looking bill was a scarlet envelope seals with a skull stamp. Firman groaned. This was just what he needed. Slitting it open, he began to read, his tired eyes sruggling to pick up the spiked and messy handwriting

_My dear managers._

_I only want to make a couple of things clear before Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet" is performed tomorrow night. _

_I request that box five remain empty for my use. But also, leave an extra chair. I will be bringing a guest this night. I wish for your best French wine, specially made and a box of white chocolates and a bouquet of black roses for my beautiful guest. _

_I beg to remain _

_Your humble and obedient servant_

_O.G._

_P.S. My salary is due…_

Firman felt like crying. How could he possibly afford yet another twenty thousand francs? It was impossible! How could a ghost need so much money? What on earth and heaven did he use it for? And Count Phillipe and his brother, Roaul had booked box five. He would have to cancel their reservations. And who was this mysterious guest? A girl, most likely. Chocolates and flowers? Yes, it would be a pretty woman. He suddenly felt a stab of pity for the poor thing. To be the love of a mere phantom… He shivered at the thought.

He picked up another letter, dirty and smudged. Probably from one of the maids. It read;

_Dear Monsieurs Firman and Andre_

_I write to say that there is a slight rat problem in the Opera Populair. I ask you not to panic for it has been taken care of immediately. We have adopted a couple of cats to hunt them. I will tell you more on this at a later date_

_Yours with respect_

_Gloria Crocket_

Firman started violently at a sharp squeak from his left shoe. He looked down to see a shiny, fat black rat the size of his hand. He kicked it off with a shout. Not to panic? Indeed!

**So there you go. What do you think, please review!**

**RandomPhantom**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer - I do not own any character from The Phantom of the Opera or Cats. But i have a plan. After months of careful planning, thousands of bribes and blackmails and even a couple of murders, i may own Rum Tum Tugger**

Chapter 2 Romeo and Juliet

He took her hand and led her into the box, where they could see a perfect view of the stage. She sat herself on the soft, comfy chair and began to fiddle with her skirts nervously. He could tell she was terrified. No matter, he thought to himself. He would learn to love him. It was something he told himself regularly. Not that he truly believed it.

He sat down opposite her and tugged off his black leather gloves and laid them on the side table beside the chocolates. With a flourish, he revealed the black roses. She gasped in a mixture of awe and fear. He did not smile. That was not what he wanted. Why couldn't she enjoy the things he did for her? Smile and love him?

"Would you like a program, Little Lotte?" he asked politely. She seemed to consider it hard before answering tightly, "yes…"

He stood, tall and frightening. She shrank back in her seat. Did she have any idea how much it tore his heart to see the fear in her eyes? "Madame?" he called an attendant. She turned, shook her head and looked away, then did a double take. Could this be?

"Opera Ghost!" she squeaked.

He ignored her exclamation. "May I request a program?"

"Of coarse…" she flustered. He was about to pay her when she fled down the corridor and out of sight. Torn between annoyance and acceptance, he returned to his box. Christine still sat, white and shaky in her seat. "Little Lotte," he tried to smile at her but failed. "A program…"

"Thank you," she took it in shaky fingers but didn't open it.

He heard a jarring note somewhere in the orchestra and he sat up a little straighter, listening. But it was only a cello player practising awkwardly. Really, those players where tone deaf if anything!

"Who will be acting for us tonight," he asked suddenly, ignoring Christine's yelp of fear. She fumbled with the program, turning the pages gingerly, like they might bite her. Her eyes met his and she licked her lips."Carlotta plays Juliet," she said quietly. To her relief, he didn't react as badly as she thought he might.

"Then I suppose Piangi will play Romeo," he muttered bitterly, the cogs of his brain turning frantically.

Munkustrap sniffed the disturbed dust swiftly, then swivelled his head left then right, his ears flat against his skull. He almost jumped three feet in the air when a ballet girl suddenly squealed; "Oooohhh! Look, Isabelle, a kitty!"

He hissed at her and she squealed again, this time in fright. "Bad kitty," she pouted. He snorted at her derisively. He had a mouse to catch. Or a rat, he wasn't sure. Maybe Rum Tum Tugger was having better luck. His tail twitched and he turned round. Grizabella was right behind him.

She was old and slow with a pronounced limp in her left forepaw. She wasn't that good at catching rats and mice but she was smart and Munkustrap had a certain soft spot for her.

_Hey, glamour cat, _he whispered.

_I am right here;_ she answered in a hushed, weak voice.

_Do you smell anything? I think we should go back to Deuteronomy. We are having no luck and the play will begin soon. We can't venture onto the stage then._

_Yes, I am cold and hungry, let us go back…_

He trotted over to her and rubbed against her, warming her with his tabby fur. She purred. _You should have told me, _he meowed. _I wouldn't want you to catch something. That would be the death of you. _

_Your vote of confidence is reassuring, _she sniffed.

He gave her a cats grin.

The play had begun and already Eric wished he hadn't come. Carlotta was awful and Piangi was just cheesy. It was almost unbearable. Almost… but not quite. He didn't need to watch the stage. Instead he focused on his angel. She was incredibly lovely tonight. Even more so than usual, if that were possible.

She often glanced back at him. At this, he would turn swiftly to the stage, his eyes unfocused. She kept looking at his mask and this unnerved him. He knew that the thing made her nervous but even this was unusual. He touched it to make sure it was on right and, to his great relief, it was. Then why did she stare at it like a magpie eyeing a silver coin? He put it out of his mind. That was his first mistake

He offered her the chocolates, which she accepted. Then the wine, which she refused. He frowned but poured himself a lonely glass and began to drink deeply. That was his second mistake. It made him less alert, which caused him to make his third mistake. He let Christine touch his face.

He thought it was a gesture of love. A caress to soothe him and he closed his eyes and relaxed. Her fingers stroked his cheek and his eyelid. He tensed slightly as he felt her fingers wander to his mask but the feeling of the wine settling in his stomach warmed him and he had no room in his mind for suspicion.

He reacted only when he felt her fingernails slide between the mask and his skin. He stood up and was about to grab her wrist but it was too late. The mask was ripped from his face and thrown out of the box.

"LOOK!" Shrieked Christine, pointing at Eric with one accusing finger. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. THIS IS YOUR PHANTOM!"

The entire theatre had fallen silent. The actors on the stage forgot their lines in an instant. Eric's hand flew to his face to hide himself but Christine grabbed it and pulled it away, revealing the terrible dead, raw features. The bulging eye and skull like grin and blood red lips fixed in a permanent leer. "SEE HIS HIDIOUSNESS! HE HAS KIDNAPPED ME! HELP ME, OH ROAUL, HELP ME! SAVE ME FROM THE OPERA GHOST!"

Eric stood, thunderstruck. Utterly motionless. He was breathing heavily and his legs felt shaky, like he had just run miles. A single tear fell from his red, cracked eye, to his ruined raw flesh. She had betrayed him. There was a horrified gasp from the audience.

That's when the screaming began. It started a disgusted moan and rose to a crescendo of woman screaming and men yelling and panicked footsteps fleeing the theatre. Soon words could be heard through the babble.

"He's a freak!"

"A monster!"

"Surely not human!"

"He has Lucifer in him!"

"The Devils son!"

_The Devils son!_ A sudden flashback.

_A cage, small and filled with dirty straw. People laughing and cheering as his owner beat him mercilessly. Calls of "Demon!" and "Monster!" and "Devils Child!". Spectators leering and roaring with fear and horror and disgust. That was all he was, a freak! An inhuman freak! The crowd begins to chant._

_"Devils Child!"_

_"Devils Child!"_

_"Devils Child!"_

_"Devils Child!"_

With that, he fled in terror, flying out of the box and down the corridor like the powers of hell snapped at his coat tails.

**What do you think? Please, review. **

**I think i was a little bitty mean to poor Phantom but it had to be done sobs quietly. Don't worry though. He gets a new friend. See chapter 3**

**RandomPhantom**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer - I do not own any character from Phantom of the Opera or Cats. I tried amd tried amd begged and begged but Lloyd Webber would give me nothing. Not even measly Rumpleteaser! But there's still Rum Tum Tugger and now i've set my mind on Madame Giry...!**

Chapter 3 Rats in His Lair

Munkustrap found him sometime later in his lair. Hunched over in a gold, throne like chair, hugging himself and sobbing bitterly like a small child. His face still mask-less and in complete ruin, red and tear streaked, both eyes pulpy and red from crying so hard. Munkustrap felt sorry for him. What vicious monster would hide in his lair, wallowing in misery like this? He arched his back and, purring as loudly as he could and rubbed against the Phantoms legs.

Eric stopped weeping suddenly and looked down with slight confusion at the furry creature butting his shins with a tabby head, purring softly and meowing sweetly.

"Get away, cat!" he yelped in a cracked voice, hoarse from crying. He nudged it with his boot. The cat looked back at him with a slightly hurt expression in its large amber eyes. "Shoo!" Eric hissed. "Get away! Bark! Bark!" he began to bark like a dog. The cat didn't move but continued to look up at him with an amused expression. It was laughing at him, he realised.

He sighed, accepting that it was really no use. The cat wasn't going to move. He reached down and stroked a single finger along its back. The cat began to purr again, He snaked a shaky hand under its stomach and lifted it onto his lap. He got the feeling he might be chancing it but the cat settled and began to lick his hand in a good-natured sort of way.

Eric smiled through his tears. He let the cat lap his fingers. It tickled slightly. But then he frowned slightly as he heard a sharp squeak at his feet. He glanced down and saw a large black rat with a long hairless tail. The cat saw it too and leapt from his knee in one swift, fluent movement. It chased after the rat and disappeared behind his organ. He let it go but felt an empty childish disappointment that his furry little friend had run away from him so soon

He rubbed his eyes and stood up, gulping back more tears. He wandered over to a stand of masks. There were two, one was missing. Christine threw it over the box and it had disappeared under the crowd, probably crushed under the rushing feet. He lifted a black one to his face. It hid face distortion mostly but he always felt a little uneasy wearing it. It was his smallest and revealed most of his face, his nose, mouth and most of his forehead.

He replaced it and tried the large "Red Death" mask. It fitted better, hiding his whole face and even his eyes behind black see-through gauze. Tying it behind his head with a black ribbon, he sat back at his organ and began to play around with the chords. He had an idea. He had recently discovered a set of chords that sounded much different to the music he normally played. It was fast-paced and exciting and made his heart sore.

But it was, as he knew all too well, different. It broke a lot of the rules he had had to teach himself. In fact, it threw the rulebook out of the window. But that was why he liked it. He had already experimented with it when he wrote _The Phantom of the Opera_ but it was gingerly done, and sparingly. He was too frightened Christine wouldn't like it, and so held back. But now, he had no one to listen to him now, so he would take it to the next level.

He fiddled with a melody and came up with one that suited his mood and swiftly found the right chords to set the scene. He scratched it down with a battered quill and began to practise it, improvising lyrics as he went.

"_When I was a young boy_

_My father took me to the city_

_To see a marching band…"_

He stopped playing. No, it didn't sound right. It was too harsh. He needed something gentle to soothe his nerves. He switched to his piano.

"_When I was a young boy_

_My father took me to the city_

_To see a marching band…_

_He said, son when you grow up_

_Will you be the saviour of the broken?_

_The beaten and the damned?_

_Because one day I'll send you_

_A Phantom to lead you through the summer_

_To join the black parade!" _

He stopped there. He heard a munching sound to his left near the organ and it was distracting him greatly. He looked over and saw the tabby cat again. It had evidently caught its' rat and crunching the bones up with gusto. Eric sighed. "You still here?"

The cat ignored him

"What do you want?"

This time, it shifted until it had its back to him. His eye twitched and he felt a sudden burst of annoyance. "Hey, cat!"

The cat turned to him. _That's Mr. Cat, to you buster!_

Eric nearly jumped three feet in the air. He closed his eyes and massaged his temples. He had heard Christine say that he was slightly unhinged but now he must have completely lost it.

"Did you just speak to me?" he asked the cat.

_Yes. _

"But you are just a dumb animal," Eric said, frowning, his eyes still closed. The cat flicked his tail at Eric.

_If you're going to waste my time with that attitude, I won't speak to you again. Remember that I comforted you when you were sad. You would have gone on crying for hours if I hadn't sat on your lap. _

Eric suddenly stood up a little straighter, opened his eyes and declared stiffly, "I was NOT crying!"

_Sure, whatever…_

He paused, wandering what to say next. "My name is Eric. What do I call you?"

_I have three names. First, the name my family uses, Tommy. Second, my proper name, Munkustrap and third, my true mane, which even I don't know. _

"Can I call you Tom?"

_Tom will be fine. _

"Who do you belong to, Tom? Christine? Carlotta? Piangi? One of the maids?"

_A French family near this opera house. Name o' de Chagny._

At the sound of Roaul's name, Eric paled with anger. "Is the master of the house one called Roaul?" he hissed through gritted teeth.

Tom began to munch the rat bones again. _Oh, yeah. Handsome fellow and really generous with cream. And he's the only human I know who has warm hands ALL THE TIME! Not just some of the time, all of the time. And he never pushes me off when I jump on his lap for a pat or two. He always talks to me as well, tells me everything, always good for a chat, he is… Why? Do you know him?_

"All too well…!" Eric was fuming, red in the face and shaking with anger. How could he compete with that! He looked at his own hands, which always seemed to be icy cold. No wonder Christine hated it when he got too close.

_Can I ask you something?_

"What!?" he snapped. Suddenly he wasn't in the mood for talking.

_Well, actually, two things. First, why do wear a mask? Don't get me wrong. It looks real good. All mysterious and creepy like but why? _Then his great amber eyes widened, as he suddenly comprehended. _Are you the Opera Ghost!?_

Eric gave a sarcastic bow. "Guilty as charged!"

Tom's eyes widened still further. Eric felt his amazement. _Wow… I never thought you existed…_

"I would have liked to have kept it that way," he spat angrily. "But that stupid COW!" he shouted the word. "Exposed me and now everybody knows what I really am. A freak of nature!"

Tom stood up, abandoning the dead rat, and met Eric's eyes. _About that… I see you have fallen on some hard times and that's no fault of your own. You seem like you could really do with a friend at the moment. That brings me to my second question. There's someone I'd like you to meet. She's not too well and she needs a warm place to sleep and I thought she would be good company for you. You're both social outcasts and poor lonely souls. Could she say here for a while?_

"Depends…" mused Eric, calming down now. "What will get out of it?"

_A faithful companion. Someone to get rid of all these buggers, _he nudged the rat with a forepaw. _I think you of all people would really benefit from this. And she could learn a lot from you._

"Is she another cat?" Eric asked suspiciously.

_Do you have a problem with that? _

Eric sighed. It wasn't like he had a choice. A friend is a friend. Cat or human, he needed someone. Tom was right. It was so damn lonely in his lair, cold and hollow. She shook is head. "Alright, bring her in…"

Tom looked over his shoulder and meowed loudly.

_Grizabella? Come out now…!_

**And that's chapter 3. I Grizabella is a lot like my cat. name o' Tessa. A horror, she is. **

**RandomPhantom**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer - NNNNNNOOOOOOOO!!!!! He has disrupted my plans yet again. Rum Tum Tugger will never be mine now! Nor any of the other characters from Phantom of the Opera or Cats. I give up. Wait! What about brat from Whistle down the Wind? laughs histerically!**

Chapter 4 Grizabella the Glamour Cat

An old cat, her fur soaked and so dirty Eric couldn't figure out what her original colour was, her eyes baleful, the corners twisting up like a crooked pin, part of her ear missing and a tail that bent awkwardly like it was broken, walked in. She must have been beautiful once, enough to win competitions, surely, but that had long flown out the window. She was heartbreaking to look at.

Tom slinked back and nudged her forward. She approached cautiously, frightened. She hesitated towards him, her movements slow and careful. He bent down to meet her, falling on one knee. He held out his hand and she sniffed it reluctantly. After careful consideration, she moved to rub her head against his hand and he scratched the ear that was still whole. She began to purr. It sounded more like choked breathing.

_I am Grizabella._

"I know," he said. Then, thinking quickly. "You're very beautiful."

_I know you do not mean that but thank you anyway. You're a very handsome human. I like your mask._

"I know you don't mean that, but thank you anyway," he chuckled.

_I'll leave you two to get to know each other better, _said Tom. He turned to the glamour cat. _I need to go find Rum Tum Tugger._

_You do that. _

And he left, splashing into that lake and swimming powerfully out of sight. Grizabella sat back on her bony hind legs and began to clean herself. Eric cleared his throat. "Alright, well, I'd better get the housekeeping over with. My name is Eric. What do you eat?"

_I will catch my own food, _she said without looking up.

"Very well. I am sure you'll find plenty of fish in the lake and there might be more rats around." He paused, unsure how to phrase his next question. "Can I pick you up?"

She looked up at him. _Why?_

"I would like you show around my lair. It's very big and I wouldn't like you to get lost."

She stared up at him suspiciously for a long time before answering. _Be gentle. _

He picked her up as slowly as he could and got to his feet. She was very light, too light, and her paws were wet with the cold ground. Her fur was dry but very muddy, covering his clothes with dust and dirt.

"This is my bed," he said, gesturing to the large king-sized, swan shaped, silk clothed, red pillowed bed. "You may sleep at the bottom at my feet at night. But I would like you not to enter at any other time. My music room," he said moving on to a large room filled with every type of musical instrument she could imagine. "Is where I practise. I play quite a lot. I hope you like music." She said nothing. "These mirrors," he said.

She finally interrupted _I see no mirrors. _

"They are behind curtains," he explained. "I don't like to see my own reflection." He walked through the rest of the rooms and showed her where she could go and where she couldn't. He took her everywhere except through a door at the far end of his lair. When she asked where it led, he said, "If you must know, a little bit of my homeland. A painful and merciless past I would not like to revisit," and said no more.

_What time is it, _she asked.

He checked his pocket watch. "About ten in the evening. Would you like to go to bed now? I am very tired myself…"

She purred, her sides vibrating against his chest, and stretched out her paws, flexing her claws. _Bed sounds nice._

He began to hum softly as he carried her back to his bedroom. _What are you humming?_ She asked curiously. He blushed, she could even see it under the skull shaped mask. "A little something that I used to sing to a woman I really loved…"

_What happened?_

"She left me, for another man," he said hollowly. "They were well suited to each other…"

He laid her down carefully on the bed and covered her with the sheets. _Sing it to me, _she purred. _To send me to sleep._

He paused, awkward, not sure whether he should refuse or not. But what harm could it do? And he was in the mood to sing.

"_Night time sharpens,_

_Heightens each sensation_

_Darkness stirs _

_And wakes imagination_

_Silently the senses_

_Abandon their defences_

_Helpless to resist the notes I write_

_For I compose the music of the night!"_

She closed her eyes and curled up, warm and safe. She sang softly and sweetly, his voice lulling and hypnotic. He sang the whole song once through and as he ended, he could hear her breathing slowly, obviously asleep.

"_You alone can make my song take flight_

_So help me make the music of the night…"_

As silently as he could, he carefully got into bed and pulled the covers over him, trying not to disturb Grizabella getting her glamour sleep. Laying his head on the pillow, he breathed deeply and instantly fell asleep, leaving all the unpleasant events of the day behind him.

**There, quite sweet. But i want to let you know, they will NOT fall in love. She is a cat and he is a human. It will never happen, so don't start getting any ideas!**

**RandomPhantom**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer - Oops, i forgot to say that i do not own any of My Chemicle Romance's songs. But that does not concern me. What concerns me is that i don't own any characters from Phantom of the Opera, Cats or Whistle down the Wind. Five people have been arested and ten more have got to a mentle hospital and three more have been killed in an attemp to take Brat!! But i don't own any song from ubove musicals either. Maybe i should focus on them... ponders thoughtfully...**

Chapter 5 "Can you sing…?"

He woke early. Groggily he shifted onto his back. His foot twitched, he frowned. Why hadn't he kicked Grizabella yet? He looked over and his frown deepened. She wasn't there. She must have woke up before him and gone to hunt rats. He got up, made his bed and wandered out into the main body og his lair. She was there, stiff and alert, ready to pounce on a scrawny little rat a few metres away. Eric tiptoed past in an effort not to disturb her.

She lunged… and missed by miles. The rat streaked off in the opposite direction and under the organ. She sprang after it, stumbling slightly and over balancing, tripping and falling flat on her face. Eric ran to her and tried to help her back up but she clawed at him angrily and raced to the organ, extending a hopeful paw under it and swotting vainly. She turned back to him empty handed and hissed.

_You scared away my breakfast!_

He shrugged. "If you want, I could get you something from the kitchens. A nice bit of fish, maybe?"

_Go, hang yourself on your punjab lasso, Phantom! _She snarled with unusual venom.

"Suit yourself," he spat back. How could she be so nasty to him when he had allowed her to stay with him until she got better? Had he not allowed her to sleep on his bed? Had he not just sung her to sleep the night before? How dare she snarl at him like that!

He turned his back on her and swept onto his boat, pushing it away from the shore and out onto the glassy lake.

_Where are you going?_

"None of your business," he snapped and disappeared from her view. Still fuming, he silently made his way out of the caves and into the basement of the Opera House, where the kitchens were. He hid behind a large stone horse to be used in next weeks play and watched to door to the kitchens. A small girl, brunette with dark eyes and skinny legs came out and laid a plate of breakfast, a boiled egg and some bacon, on the floor.

"Here you are, my prince…" she whispered to thin air and ran back inside at the sound of her name. Eric smiled to himself. The little runt thought that she was leaving food for a prince in shining armour that hid away in the basement. She had found him once and he sang to her of his great castle to the north and how he searched for his poor princess who was being held captive by an evil sorcerer. And she believed it and routinely left meals for him outside the kitchen door. He always grabbed it before anyone saw him and returned the plate upon getting the next meal.

He stole forward and laid a dirty plate where his breakfast used to be and hid it under his cloak, being careful not to drop it and get bacon stains on his clothes. Back in his lair, he sat on his throne and began to eat the egg. Grizabella sat, leaning over the lake, waiting for a fish. Every now and then, she would jerk her paw forwards and try to catch one but the always evaded her grasp, to quick. Now they were just teasing her.

"Are you sure you don't want any of this," he said, finishing the egg.

_Get stuffed._

"You know, it's not weak to ask for help," he murmured.

_Shut up! _She hissed. There were tears in her eyes now. Eric felt a stab of pity for her. She must have been up for hours hunting and trying over and over to get some food. She must be starving.

"I am not hungry," he declared. "I will not eat this rasher of bacon."

_I am so hungry, _she wailed.

"I will perform a magic trick for you," he said, grinning mysteriously. "I will put this bacon on the floor and turn my back. When I count to ten, it will have disappeared into thin air."

He dropped the bacon and turned his back. His was her chance. She could take the bacon without shame because he was not offering to her. He began to count. "One… Two… Three… Four…" and so on. When he got to ten, he turned back and there was Grizabella, sitting where the bacon was and flashing him a cats grin.

"There!" he exclaimed. "Presto! It's gone!"

_A trick worthy of the great Mistofoles, _she rolled her eyes. Then she began to cry again. _Look at me, stealing food from a human. I'm useless. I don't deserve to be a Jellicle Cat! _She wept.

"No, no, no…" Eric sighed. "You must be good at something. Think, can you dance?"

_Not like I used to._

"Can you sing?"

She looked up at him, her eyes wet and bright. _I don't know. _

"Well, we can try that, then." And before she could protest, he lifted her up onto the organ and began to play a swelling melody. "Just make up the lyrics as you go," he told her. _I can't do this!_

"Yes, you can," he insisted. "Just listen to the melody and let it fill you up. Let the music fill you up and posses you until it bursts from you in a song."

She listened for a while and began to sing a little, the notes quavering and hesitant. But she grew in confidence as the music really began to affect her.

_Memory…_

_All alone in the moonlight_

_Met your memory lead you_

_Open up, enter in_

_Midnight_

_Not a sound from the pavement_

_Has the moon lost her memory?_

_She is smiling alone_

_In the lamplight, _

_The withered leaves collect at my feet_

_And the wind begins to moan…_

"There you are!" he cried. "Didn't I tell you! That is beautiful!" he changed key swiftly, playing a rhythmic heartbeat melody.

_"Sing once again with me!_

_Our strange duet_

_My power over you_

_Grows stronger yet_

_And though you turn from me_

_To glance behind_

_The Phantom of the Opera is there_

_Inside your mind!"_

He slowed, pulling into a sweet, swelling melody, filled with love and passion. She sang for him again.

_Whistle down the wind_

_Let your voices carry_

_Drown out all the rain_

_Light a patch of darkness_

_Treacherous and scary. _

But suddenly, another drowned her voice. Not Eric, for he had even quit playing to wheel round in his stool to get a better look. A man, dressed in rags had taken over. His voice was strong and loud and not too different from Eric's, in fact.

_"Make it clear and strong!_

_For the whole night long_

_Every signal that you send_

_Until the very end_

_I will not abandon you my precious friend. _

The man stopped singing, but the whole room was silent. Finally, Eric broke it.

"Who are you and how did you get into my lair!?"

**there! that's all i've written so far, so you'll have to wait a while for chapter 6 and so on. But i hope that's enough to read and review for now. Enjoy and be patient!**

**RandomPhantom**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer - This is impossible! How can Lloyd Webber be so damn mean that he won't let me own any of the characters or songs from Phantom of the Opera, Whistle down the Wind or Cats! Though i am trying my best to own Prima Donna! Even though it's my least favourite song in "Phantom"!**

Chapter 6 The Man

The man stood there, soaking wet and shivering. When he had been singing, his voice, though strong, was shaking with the cold and came out as a croak. He sounded like a man who wasn't used to using his voice. He had dark matted hair that fell, damp and dripping, past his shoulders and down to the small of his back. His eyes were sunk in to his skull and he was so thin, almost skeletal, that Eric could see his ribs through the rags like looked suspiciously like prison clothes.

"Who are you?" repeated Eric loudly. "Speak!"

The man shook his head.

"You had a voice a second ago. Your tongue knew how to sing. Use it or lose it, monsieur!"

"I…" he croaked, like a frog. He took a deep breath and tried again. "I… my name…" Then suddenly he split into a wide grin and just as suddenly, his face twisted with sorrow. "I am Jesus Christ!" he spat and then burst into wild laughter.

_The man is mad! _Grizabella gasped.

"No…" answered the man. "I am not mad. Where am I?" he asked, looking around the lair with a bemused expression.

"My lair!" Eric snapped angrily.

"And where's that?" hissed the man, exasperated.

"The Opera d'Populair! Paris! France!"

_The Earth, _added Grizabella helpfully.

"I'm in France?" muttered the man, more to himself than anyone else. "I got all the way to France? Alive?" he turned to Eric. "Well… _pardon moi, monsieur!_" he began to laugh hysterically again.

"How did you get here?" Eric asked, staring at the man with a mixture of horror and confusion.

"Swam," the man shrugged.

_But who are you? _

"Oi!" he jumped. "Did your cat just speak?"

_I am not his cat!_

"Blimey…"

"Who are you?" asked Eric for the third time.

"I don't have a name…" the man shrugged again, his rags fluttering pathetically. "But I s'pose you can call me… Blake! That's my name! Or Blakey as the police like to call me."

"The police are after you?" gasped Eric. "Well, why didn't you say anything? Get out! I don't want police in my lair and you might have led them right to me. Get out!"

"Hey, hey," the man, Blake, soothed. "I lost them when I travelled to Europe. I'm just keeping a low profile here before I return to America."

_You're from the New World…? _Sighed Grizabella. _What's it like?_

"The land of freedom," Blake snapped sarcastically. Then, he suddenly burst into song.

_"The old man at the bank that sneers_

_The teachers and their slaps_

_The brutal eyes_

_The uniforms_

_The lawyers and their traps_

_The lonely girls who yearn to love_

_And learn to kiss and dance_

_The rich and selfish widow, _

_In the market for romance…"_

By this time, taken by Blake's strength of voice and melody, Eric had run to the organ and was playing hard and rhythmic.

"_The soldier with the smell of war_

_That never fades away_

_The hero on the playing field_

_Forgotten in a day_

He was so overcome by emotion now that he stopped singing and feel to his knees, shivering uncontrollably. With cold and tears. Grizabella purred and rubbed against him, licking his hair dry. Eric covered him with a cloak and tried to prompt some more answers from him. But the man was having none of it. So Eric half led him, half dragged him, to a dry place.

_Give him some dry clothes, _urged Grizabella.

"Hell, no!" yelped Eric. "I am not giving him my clothes. They're good clothes!"

_You're ridiculous, Eric. He'll die without something warm. He's already chilled to the bone._

So, muttering furiously under his breath, the Phantom passed a clean tunic and cloak and shoes from his wardrobe to the man and left him to dry and change.

_You did the right thing. _Grizabella purred and stretched.

"If you say so…"

Still, the impact of the good deed was nice. He felt a little happier now that he had helped the man, rather than shunning him. He smiled to himself. He hadn't felt this good about himself since, well, since ever.

**Yeah, i know there is too much singing! Don't worry, i won't bore you with songs that you probably don't know anymore! I'll try to keep the singing to a minimum: )**

**Yours **

**The Phantom of Quill and Ink!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer - Thanks to that terrible medler, Andrew Lloyd Webber, i own none of the characters or plots from Evita, Phatom of the Opera, Whistle down the Wind, or Cats! It's not fair! you know what, i give up!**

Chapter 7 The Black Parade

Sometime later, when the man had recovered somewhat and was dry and in Eric's warm clothes, he began to talk.

"I s'pose my story's nothing unusual. I bed you have a better story than I have. But here's how it goes. I was in prison…"

_You were in prison? _Grizabella interrupted. _Why_?

"I have done something too terrible to even imagine." Blake shuddered. "Please, don't ask me what."

Grizabella was about to ask anyway when Eric put a hand on her tiny shoulders and shook his head. Some things were best left unasked. He should know

"I stepped on a pitch fork to get into the infirmary, to make it easier to escape, but tore up my hands climbing over barbed wire. That's how I got these scars on my feet and hands like Christ."

He showed them the red holes on his hands

"Then, while I was hiding in a barn, some kids found me and thought that I _was_ Jesus. I just played along until I was found out. There was a terrible fire and a riot and I only just escaped with y life. I will never forget the look of betrayal and disappointment on the kids faces when I ran off into the night."

At this, he looked off into the lake, his eyes clouded and unseeing, looking into something neither Grizabella or Eric could see.

"I've been running ever since, and then I came here."

"A fabulous story," said Eric, disagreeing with the earlier statement. "I could really work from that, write some songs, but that will come later. You and I have a lot in common. More than I thought anyway."

"Then you must have a story as well," prompted Blake. "Tell me!"

Eric squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. He didn't like reliving the Opera Disaster. But Blake had shared his tale. Why shouldn't he? But, no! He cast the idea away at once. There was no point. They would hate him or at least laugh at him and he didn't like the idea if losing his friends so soon.

_I never thought to ask_, muttered Grizabella. _But of course, you must live down here in this magnificent lair for a reason…_

Eric sighed. There was obviously no escaping it. "I was born in a circus. I don't know who my mother was and I had no name. I was known only as the Devil's Child because of my horribly distorted face. My master was cruel and beat me. I escaped with the help of a dear friend of mine and have lived in this opera house ever since." He finished lamely.

_Come on there must be more than that!_ Said the cat.

"Yes, come on. I want to hear more," exclaimed Blake.

"Oh, well, all right…" muttered Eric and continued in a rather sour monotone. "I fell in love with a beautiful chorus girl. I thought of nothing but her. She was an obsession to me…"

"Awww… sweet!" sighed Blake.

"But when I took her down to my lair and tried to woo her, she rejected me and left me for a fop! By name of Raoul. I hate him with all my heart just as I love her still." He sighed. "That's all I have to tell."

_A lovely love story_, commented Grizabella.

Eric shook his head. "Say what you wish. I'd rather die a thousand deaths than go through it again."

"Told you, you have a better story than me!" joked Blake.

The Phantom gave him a withering look.

"Listen," smiled Blake. "I know something than might cheer you up. There's a parade today and I think it would be great if we attended."

"A parade?" scoffed Eric, his eyebrows raised,

"Only if you want to…" Blake back-pedalled frantically.

_No, I think that would be fabulous. I love parades! _Grizabella cheered.

So after much arguing a couple of bribes the companions managed to get Eric to agree to go to the parade. After a tense ride back to the upper floors of the Opera House. Eric wore a long hooded black cloak to hide his mask and the others trotted behind him, smiling broadly. Blake actually made a point of greeting every pretty French woman with a "_Bonjour, Mademoiselle…"_ taking his hat (the very hat Eric had lent him) off to them and bowing slightly.

Everyone seemed to be heading to the heart of Paris, where the parade would start. It was to celebrate the coming of the first lady of Argentina. She was Eva Peron. A young and beautiful and powerful lady in Argentina. It was curious to see how she was received in France. They got to the square and lined up at the edge of the road and waited. It was bitingly cold and even though Blake and the cat were in very good spirits, Eric would shivering and desperately wanted to go home.

Especially when he saw a lovely brunette arm in arm with Raoul. Christine was wearing an expensive night blue dress and a flowery hat. Her face was perfect in the way it reflected the sun and (worst of all) she was looking up at Raoul with a mixture of admiration and love. He looked away quickly when she looked his way but she didn't see him.

As he was concentrated on Christine, he hadn't noticed that the parade had begun. Only when Grizabella tugged at his cloak and asked to be lifted up, the better to see, did he look round and see the first of the trumpets and drummers. They were in smart uniform and marched in perfect unison. Treading o the flowers thrown by the onlookers. Eric saw the small kitchen girl who left him his meals, jumping up and down in great excitement, her hair in cute little pigtails. Everyone must have turned up to this event.

Then came the carriage in which the First Lady sat, looking out at everyone with a shy smile. She was certainly beautiful. Not as lovely as Christine, but still elegant and attractive. The companions followed the carriage until it got to the end of the street and the parade stopped, the players halting as she got out. A man, handsome and kind-faced but must certainly foreign, probably Spanish, took her hand and confidently helped her out.

Everyone in the street fell silent as they waited for her speech. But as she opened her mouth, a boy, maybe about fourteen, darted forward and grabbed her bag. He rushed past and into the crowd where he disappeared from everyone's view except Eric. He began to run, easily catching up with the boy and tripping him up, recovering the bag. He stood panting as the crowd stared at him.

His hood had fallen down, revealing his ebony mask. He quivered with fear. Why must every single person in the crown stare at him so? Some of the Lady's guards shouldered their way to him. The boy was still on the ground, the breath knocked out of him and groaning. Eric held out the bag, which the guards snatched back. Grizabella and Blake were also staring at him, but smiling happily.

Eric was led forcefully back to Mrs. Peron. "Move it," yelled the guards. "Make way!" Eva was standing grinning at him thankfully. She was wearing purple. A dress, sleek and tight and smart. Her platinum blonde hair in a tight bun under a hat with a black feather in it.

"That was very quick thinking, sir." She smiled. "Thank you." She took the bag and slung it under her shoulder. "I owe you," she said. "You're a very brave, handsome man." The Spanish man frowned, disapproving. "What's you name, so I know what to put on your medal."

Eric blushed, but before he could answer, someone in the crowd shouted, "He's the Phantom of the Opera!" Eric wheeled round. Raoul stood, an accusing finger pointed squarely at him. "He's a murderer!"

The crowd looked on, aghast. Eric was breathing heavily, his fist clenched. He was about to answer curtly when he was interrupted again, this time by Christine.

"THAT'S A LIE!"

Eric felt like he had been hit in the stomach. He was breathless. Christine was sticking up for him. She, for the first time was on his side. She was blushing now, her hand over her mouth. Raoul put his arm round her but she pushed him away, stepping forward and shouting out again.

"This man is called Eric Destler! He is not the Opera Ghost, who is no more than a figment of the chorus girls imagination!"

She took his hand and Eric felt a shook of electricity flit through him and he trembled.

Eva was stunned but easily recovered her command over the crowd. "This man stopped a thief in his tracks but you say he is a murderer? I will not have this. Mr. Destler, instead of getting a medal of honour, I will pardon you from all crimes you are accused of! He seems a decent guy and deserves to be treated with respect."

Eric gasped. Blake was standing with his mouth open slightly, his eyes wide and Grizabella stiffened in surprise. Even Christine raised her eyebrows.

"Let Mr. Destler be escorted back to his home by my own personal guard!" Eva ordered. But this time, Eric stepped in.

"No, Madame," he said respectfully. "I will make my own way home, thank you."

She shrugged, still smiling. "Very well."

With that, Christine let go of his hand and turned back to Raoul, who was shaking with anger. The Phantom made his way through the crown again on the way to the Opera House, not staying for the end of the parade. Most of the crowd gave him venomous looks and others even spat on him, but it fell like water on a ducks back. And no one dared take a swing at him in case the First Lady was watching.

Blake a Grizabella followed, nervous. But they needn't have been, for Eric was beaming inside. Christine had held his hand and stood up for him against her love. The 1st Lady of Argentina had given him pardon for the things he had done in the past. Nothing, not one thing, could make the bubble that swelled inside him pop.

**It may take a while** **for me to update the next few chapters! I hope you are patient people!**

**Yours **

**The Phantom of Quill and Ink**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer - I do not own any of the character form he phantom of the opera, whistle down the wind, cats or for that matter, evita. Nor any of the songs from ubove musicals. **

Chapter 8 My Angel Once More

They got back in hardly any time. In fact, Eric barely remembered the trip back. His only thought was of Christine. She had actually stood up for him and against Raoul no less! It was brilliant, it was fantastic, it was a miracle, and it was the greatest feeling in the world.

As soon as the tip of the boat his solid ground, Grizabella leapt off, her fur lank and greasy and thin. Blake looked after her, a worried expression marring his handsome features.

"You sure she's alright?" he murmured under his breath so she couldn't hear. Eric shrugged.

"Who cares!" he hissed. "Do you believe that the First Lady of Argentina gave me a pardon!?"

Blake gave him a look of disgust and went to see to Grizabella on his own. She did look a bit bedraggled, he admitted. Even a little sick. But she was a strong cat, she would manage without him. She would probably be too proud to accept help from him anyway, he sniggered.

He pushed the boat away from the bank with the staff, carefully manoeuvring it round to face the exit, and heaved it forward, going the way he had come. Somewhere in the labyrinth of tunnels, he chose a different rout. His heart was thudding hard against his ribcage. He could never believe his luck. His head was filled with a swirl of confused emotions. His common sense told him to leave Christine alone but he couldn't bare not seeing her again even for a second. He longed for her presence, ached for her voice, craved her touch.

This is madness indeed, he thought. But all is fair in love and war… Well, maybe not war. He had seen too much fighting to call war fair. But to fight for Christine? He would give his right arm to smell her perfume again. No, he would give his life to have even one hour with her. He pushed on feverishly, his face creased with the effort and his shoulder numb.

Soon he came to a brick wall. On the other side was a small and pretty chapel. Often, Christine would come to light a candle for her father. She wouldn't be there now, but maybe, just maybe… he put his ear to the stone, cold and wet and frighteningly thick. But he know all he had to do was simply call her name and she could hear him.

"Christine!" he called desperately. "Please, Christine, are you there? Please be there!" he pounded on the stone. "Christine! Christine!"

He didn't really expect her to be there, but he shuddered and moaned in longing. Oh, just to hear her voice! His hand soon became red and sore from hitting the hard stones, his voice rough from calling her name. He was about to give up when he heard her. A sweet angelic voice singing for him.

"_Angel of music_

_Guide and guardian_

_Grant to me your glory!"_

He gasped. Her voice still had such power over him. For a while he couldn't speak. "Christine…?" he whispered.

"Angel…?" her china voice.

_"I am your angel of music…"_

He could hear her sighing with relief. He wished, he longed to see her through the stone. He sang, his voice tired but determined.

_"Angel of Music_

_You denied me_

_Turning from true beauty_

_Angel of Music_

_Do not shun me_

Come to your strange angel…" 

Her answering call was just as desperate, tinged with tears and almost pleading.

_"Angel of Music_

_I denied you_

_Turing from true beauty_

_Angel of Music_

_My protector_

_Come to me Strange angel…_

Angel, I'm so sorry! I knew I loved you, but I was so blind. It is a fact that I have loved all my life at this Opera House!"

"Angel," he replied. "I know, I know… Please, do not apologise. I should be the one begging for your mercy. You are so much happier with the Vicomte. I should not have fought but left you to live a joyful life!"

"But, Angel…"

"No," he begged. "My lair is no home for us… I was foolish to even think of coming down here again!"

"Angel," she pleaded. "Listen. Raoul is handsome and sweet and endearing and loving. He would do anything for me. But I see no thrills with him. It is all flowers and outings and expensive dresses and chocolates! I long for the dark side of life, the hidden. The music of the night!" And she began to sing again.

_"Night time sharpens_

_Heightens each sensation_

_Darkness stirs_

_And wakes imagination_

_Let the dream begin_

_Let your darker side give in_

_To the power of the music that I write_

_The power of the music of the night!_

Those words were your own!"

"That was a long time ago," he snapped.

"No," she sighed.

"But what about…?"

"Beauty is not but skin deep!"

"How did you know what I was going to say?" he stammered.

"Because," she said, giggling. "I know your every thought, as you know mine. How else could you know I would be coming here?"

_"Christine, I love you…_

Will you be my angel once more?"

"My life is nothing without you…"

"Will you be my angel once more!?" he demanded.

"Yes, I was once and I will be once more." There was a silence and then the sound of distant footsteps. When Christine spoke next, she sounded frightened and urgent. "I hear someone. It will be Raoul, come to collect me! Go! Go, now and leave me!"

Eric smiled. "Those were also my words once…"

_"Go, take the boat!_

_Swear to me_

_You never will tell_

_The secret you know_

_Of the Angel in hell!"_

He swiftly leapt back on the boat and braced the staff against the bank. "Christine…"

_"Angel, I love you…"_

With her last soaring words, he pushed forward and stole away into the darkness. A secret smile shared between himself and his angel…

**I know there is too much singing and yes i also know that i promised to cut on singing but it's the only way i can think of to make the story more recognisable. If you have a probelm with this, then you will hate the next chapter where one of the character has a huge solo! But what do i care? **

**yours**

**The phantom of quill and ink!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer - you know how this goes. I own virtually none of this... blah de blah de blah de blah. **

Chapter 9 Memory

Just as he was gliding back to his lair, he saw to his great surprise and pleasure, Munkustrap standing tensely on the opposite bank.

"Tommy!" she shouted, joyfully.

_Shhh, quiet!_ He hissed. _Come, this is urgent!_

"What?" startled a little by this greeting, he stepped onto the stone and rushed to his room, led faithfully by Tom. Blake was sitting awkwardly, clenching and unclenching his fists nervously, his face drawn and sorrowful. Grizabella lay there, breathing weekly, her eyes closed. She could have been dead, had her stomach not been rising and falling painfully.

Eric reached out to stroke her limp fur but Tom shook his head. _No, do not wake her,_ he whispered. _She is sleeping. I knew this was coming. I do not think she will survive the night…_

"No!" gasped Eric. "No, she can't die! Please, no!" he bent his head, shamed to show his tears.

_Do not… cry, Phantom…_

It was she. Her voice was weak and watery. She opened her eyes with what seemed a great effort. She had lovely eyes, he noticed for the first time. Amber and deepest black, soulful and shiny.

"Glamour Cat…" he whispered. "Don't go… You are my…" he struggled with the word. "… Friend…! I need you!"

She sighed, her breath catching in her throat. _You will… live… without me. _

_You… must! _She added when he shook his head. _But listen, do… not be bitter… because of my passing… Look after my… friends, Munkustrap and… Blake. And give your… lover, Christine, the… very best. It seems… I will hunt rats… no more… _She stopped here, coughing and choking. _You are… a very handsome… human…_

He stifled a laugh. Good old Griz. "I know you don't mean that but thank you anyway. You're a very beautiful cat."

_I know you… don't mean that… but thank you… anyway…_

_Please, _she looked up at him, her eyes dull and dulling by the second. _Do one last… thing for me…_

"Anything," he promised, tears falling freely now.

_Play… for me…_

He stood slowly and watched as she rolled over and painfully struggled to her feet. Several times she fell back again but she kept at it, determined to stand upright. Munkustrap was crying now and Blake. Blake took off his hat and Eric, wearing no hat, removed his mask. He had made up his mind. She would not see an inhuman mask when she closed her eyes on him for the last time but his face, his human, scarred and ruined face.

No one reacted, not even Blake who hadn't seen him before only glanced at it before quickly looking away. Eric made to lift Grizabella but she hissed at him weakly. She wanted to do this herself. She limply tried to spring from the bed but landed hard on her stomach, making her mew in pain. But she lifted herself onto shaking limbs and slowly made the odious journey to the piano.

The Phantom sat down, sweeping his coat tails out from under him. He lifted the lid as Blake lifted the Glamour Cat onto the piano, a jump too high even for Munkustrap. Eric laid his hands on the keys and began to play, haltingly at first, but picking up confidence. Grizabella began to sing, her voice dying.

_Midnight…_

_Not a sound from the pavement_

_Has the moon lost her memory?_

_She is shining alone_

_In the lamplight_

_The withered leaves collect at my feet_

_And the wind…_

_Begins to moan…_

At this, she sang louder, as though frantic to get some strength into her last song.

_Memory…_

_All alone in the moonlight_

_I can smile at the old days_

_I was beautiful then_

_I remember the time I knew what happiness was_

_Let the memory…_

_Live again…_

She was now staring into a distance, seeing things the others couldn't. Her voice deepened and for the first time, Eric saw pearl tears fill her eyes.

_Every street lamp seems to beat_

_A fatalistic warning_

_Someone mutters and the street lamp gutters _

_And soon it will be morning_… 

Her voice, which had been rising in pitch, suddenly softened as a spasm of pain raked her face. Her sorrow filled the lair. Eric had stopped crying. His face was blank, completely hollow.

_Daylight…_

_I must wait for the sunrise_

_I must think of a new life_

_And I mustn't give in_

_When the dawn comes_

_Tonight will be a memory too_

_And a new day…_

_Will begin…_

Eric saw she was deteriorating and so gave her time to recover, venting all his pain and loss out on his piano, a swelling and heart melting melody, giving her courage to continue.

_Burnt out ends of smoky days_

_The stale cold smell of morning_

_The street lamp dies!_

_Another night is over_

_Another day is dawning_

Here, she mustered all her strength and filled the lair with her resounding voice, drowning out the piano all together and shocking everyone out of tears. Her eyes determined as she spilled out her soul, making this last song, her best piece ever.

_Touch me!_

_It's so easy to leave me!_

_All alone with my memory!_

_Of my days in the sun!_

_If you touch me…_

_You'll understand what happiness is…_

_Look…_

Her eyes clouded and her voice died.

_A new day…_

_Has…_

_Begun…_

She lay down on the piano as he played a soothing lullaby. A final tremble of pain and she closed her eyes. Her breathing slowed, slowed until it was little more than a whisper and silently as the music ended, stopped.

That was how Grizabella, the Glamour Cat, died…

**there you go! i needed to kill her off sometime, don't look at me like that! (backs away slowly)**

**yours **

**the phantom of quill and ink**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer - You know how this goes...**

Chapter 10 "You Can't Love Me…!"

How very strange, thought Eric, within one day he had felt three extreme emotions. When the 1st Lady of Argentina had honoured him, he had felt overwhelming pride and happiness. Then he had felt heart-breaking love for Christine so strong it made his heart throb only to think about it. And then he had felt utter and crippling sadness for his lost friend, the Glamour cat. Now he felt nothing. An indifferent numbness as if all his feeling had been spent and now he was little more than an emotionless shell.

They had burned Grizabella's body. Munkustrap had disappeared long ago, probably to find some hole somewhere to grieve alone. As the flames licked and consumed her body and soon the clumsily made raft she had been laid on, it began to sink, vanishing under the dark and murky waters. The Phantom didn't know what to think. He could feel his heart beating and his hands by his side and his breath rasping in and out his lungs and the tears on his face, but he seemed oddly detached. Like he didn't exist, and was only a ghost, hovering there watching these events with only a mild interest.

He was restless, he had to move, couldn't sit still and discontent to pace the lair, he escaped and wandered around the cellars of the Opera House, going nowhere, just moving, like a lost spectre.

_Are you the Phantom of the Opera?_

He started at the sound of the cocky male voice and wheeled around. It was a cat. He had a lion's main, brown and tawny with blonde streaks, and a handsome coat. It was a very good-looking cat and he knew it, swaggering forward and swishing his tail like it was _his_ Opera House.

"I am he," replied Eric.

_Yes, well I have a message from a girl called Little Lotte. Do you know her?_

Eric beamed. "As well as I know myself!"

_Whatever, _the cat droned. _Listen, the message is this… _

"Yes!?" prompted Eric impatiently.

_Your angel sits in the seat of sweet music's throne. In the kingdom where all must pay homage to music._

"What?"

_You heard me!_

"Yes, um," he stuttered. Of coarse. Thank you cat, I…"

_That's the Rum Tum Tugger!_

"Listen, I must go." The cat said nothing but swished his tail again in derision and snorted in contempt. "Thank you, Mr. Tugger, but I must rush!"

And he sprinted away from the irritable tomcat. Damn you, Christine! Why do you speak you me in riddles? Where was sweet music's throne? Suddenly, a sharp flash back.

_He leaps up onto the bank, leaving Christine in the boat. He turns swiftly, removing his cloak with a flourish. He gestured grandly to the organ and to the lair around him. In a booming voice he sings to her._

_"I have brought you_

_To the seat of sweet music's throne_

_To this kingdom where all must pay homage to music_

_Music…"_

_She just stares at him, in awe and wonder…_

He came back to reality with a jolt. Of course! His lair! She was in his lair! Oh, clever Christine! Did she really listen to him so damn closely? He laughed out loud. He could have sang! But he didn't. He saved his voice for his angel, his Christine…

He rushed back to the boat but changed his mind. No that would take too long. Instead he went to the cellar, made sure no one could see him and dropped into the trapdoor, falling a while through the air and landing cat like in his torture chamber.

This was the room he had forbidden Grizabella into. Even to stand in the darkness and seeing his face reflected a thousand times in the mirrors made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge. It was a small room, dark but at the flick of a switch it would flood with light. It was not filled with racks or thumbscrews or iron maidens, Eric couldn't waste his time with such brutal ways of keeping someone alive but in the worst pain imaginable.

No, it contains but one iron tree. It was crafted so it looked like a real tree, but it would never grow. A single Punjab lasso hung from its branches. The way it worked was so damn simple it made even the Phantom shiver. The temperature would slowly rise and as the victim began to hallucinate, the tree would be mirrored a thousand times, creating the illusion that they were in a forest. And as they began to beg for water and die of thirst, their only escape would be to confess their secrets. Or to hang yourself on the Punjab, only to see in ones final hour a thousand others writhing and jerking beside you

A terrible way to die, surely. He exited quickly wanting to spend as little time in the hell he had created as possible. And there was Christine. He stopped and gasped. She was so beautiful. Her porcelain features, her white and delicate hands, her shiny, silky hair, her bright jewel eyes, and her rose red lips. He thanked God for her beauty. The God who had betrayed him for He had sent his most beautiful angel to a man whom deserved nothing more than the foul pits of hell.

She was talking animatedly to Blake.

"Yes, I did enjoy singing in Don Juan secretly, though it was the most frightening part of my life. I was so terrified but something in his voice made me want him to sweep me up in his arms and…"

"But surely, you feared Raoul might kill him?" Blake asked, incredulous.

"Well, yes! But I had faith that…" then she noticed Eric. "Phantom!" she cried and ran, flinging herself into his outstretched arms and hugging him so tightly to her, she knocked his mask off. He stooped swiftly to retrieve it and replace it, gleaming, on his face.

She giggled. "Get rid of that silly thing," she said, trying to take the mask from his face but he cleared his throat and she remembered Blake.

He shrugged. "I can tell when I'm not wanted. But Christine, you must promise to tell me the rest of that _phan_tastic story, okay?" he winked knowingly and she giggled again. "Eric…" he tipped his hat. "Can I use the boat?"

"Be my guest."

"Excellent!" and he was off and gone within minutes.

Finally, now he and Christine were together again, he relaxed. His heart pounded painfully in his chest and he was surprised she could not hear it.

"Now," she said, looking him in the eye. "Are you going to take that mask off or are we going to have to pretend I am the silly young chorus girl I once was and that you are still some Opera Ghost?"

"Er…" he didn't want to. He really didn't want to. She was in his grasp once more and he would do anything rather than lose her again. And to frighten her away with his face, now that would not do at all! "We will have to pretend…" he decided.

"No!" she insisted. "I will not remember you all those months with Raoul and then be denied to see you again when I think I have you to love again!"

"But, Christine…"

"No, Eric! When I look back on that mask I shudder with remembered fear but when I look back on your face I shudder with longing."

A lie! It had to be! No one could look on his face and still love him! No one!

"Why do you love me, Angel…?" he asked. "I must know!"

She pondered. "Lots of reasons. I love you because you have a magical voice. Because you play just like my father used to. Because you thrill me with your darkness and I love that. Because you have had no love before and you are so new to it, like a little child. And because if they way you stare at me nervously and then look away quickly when you think I've noticed. Because your love is pure and you have so much to share. I could go on, but I'd be boring you…"

He smiled. More a smirk than anything else. "Yet you fear me. You tremble at my touch like a new born lamb."

"No!" she cried. "I fear that mask, because it's not you but a fake the real you hides behind. When I see your face, I feel like we are equals. When you wear that mask, you are the Phantom of the Opera. Musician, artist, magician, composer and architect! When I see your face, you are Eric Destler, the man I love!"

"But Eric is an ugly freak!" he wailed. "A monster! The devils child!"

"And the Phantom is a cruel tyrant!" she shouted back. She had let go of him now and was backing away. "A murderer! A fanatic!"

He quietened. He understood now. No human could ever love a mask, but a face? That was different. He reached up and slowly took it away, revealing his red raw flesh and bulging eye and distorted lips. He beckoned her. "Will you ever forgive me, Christine?"

She moved back to him slowly and hesitant. "Remember that time I exposed you at Romeo and Juliet? Yes? Well, now we are even!" and she reached to touch his face, cupping it in her hands, she pulled it forward until their lips met. It was the second time she had kissed him but it wasn't any less electric, any less wonderful. His heart stopped, then started again, faster and harder. Fireworks exploded in his brain and he reached up, running his hands through her hair and down her back as he deepened the kiss.

When they separated, he shook his head, holding back such powerful emotion he felt he would explode. "How can you love me!?" he gasped. "You can't love me…!"

"It's enough that I do," she whispered.

He grinned.

_"You alone can make my song take flight_

_Help me make the music of the night…"_

His voice softened and he kissed her, long and sweet.

**this might be the last chapter in this short story. But don't panic, i'm still thinking about writing more, you will know if i have changed my mind. Honestly i think if this is the end, then i have ended it quite abruptly, so never fear i probably will update it if i get a lot of reviews (hint... hint)...**

**Yours**

**The Phantom of Quill and Ink**


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11 "Say You Love Me…" 

Eric woke the next morning with a rare smile on his face. Christine lay beside him. He could feel her warmth in the silk red sheets of the swan bed. His heart was filled with pure and overpowering love for her. And love truly conquers all. Jailers fall in love with their prisoners, torturers with their victims, soldiers with their opponents. He just couldn't stop smiling.

He got up slowly and went to wash his face silently in a small basin by the bed and get dressed so as not to wake his angel from her perfect slumber. He looked back at her. Her skin was practically glowing with health and beauty. Oh, how he loved her so much his heart would explode with it all. On an impulse, her stole over to her side and carefully picked up his music box. It was one he had made with his own two and something that never strayed far from him for long.

He turned the key in its side and the quiet, sleepy tune began. Christine smiled a little in her sleep. He left the music box playing and went to find his mask. He held it in his hands for a moment, considering. No, he would not wear it now, it would only annoy her and another argument was not needed. He began to hum with the music. He stooped swiftly and kissed Christine's powdery cheek, her smile widening and her eyes fluttering open. He began to sing for her. Soft and whispery.

_"Masquerade…_

_Paper faces on parade_

_Masquerade…_

_Hide your face_

_So the world will never find you…"_

The music box wound down and the little monkey stopped clashing his symbols. "Good morning, my angel…" he whispered in her ear. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him sweetly. He was still clumsy at it, but he was getting used to the sensation. Such a simple gesture to show such devoted love, a kiss.

They broke apart and Eric stroked her honey hair softly with a couple of fingers.

"You are so different, Angel," she murmured. "You used to be cruel and sarcastic and brutal. Now you are so gentle and loving and…" she pondered for a suitable word. "Innocent. What has changed?"

"I told you, you would learn to love me…" he grinned. He became serious for a second. "I don't know," he answered truthfully. "It's just everyone around me has been so nice and caring. Christine, I have friends that care for me now. I find myself not thinking of what I want anymore but the people around me. Looking after Grizabella and getting her food. Watching Blake's back in case a policeman is around the corner. I find people looking at my eyes when I speak to them instead of the other way. I suppose it's been a lot of things combined."

"I've noticed," she announced happily, stroking his cheek softly. Suddenly, her nail caught his dead skin and as she drew back, he was cut. He didn't blink, but touched a droplet of blood that had welled up there. He raised his eyebrows at her. "Careful now…"

She frowned. "Doesn't that hurt? I just broke a nail on your cheek and my finger is stinging like hell!"

He shrugged. "I have no nerves under my skin there. It's completely feeling-less. You could take a razor blade and slash me and I would feel nothing!"

"That's disgusting!" she giggled.

"Mind you," he sighed sadly. "I can't feel even nice things. I can't breathe properly through my right nostril and my lips don't move as smoothly. Hence saying the letter "P" is absolutely ridiculously difficult. Can you imagine…?" he sniggered.

"_**P**ast the **P**oint of no return!"_

He sang, making a point to splutter at the letter "P". She laughed a little harder. Then he continued on sadly, "and when you kiss me, I can never kiss you back, even though I long to do so all the time."

"Oh, how tragic!" sneered a sarcastic voice from the doorway. "You're breaking my heart, here, Phantom!"

They booth wheeled round. Raoul de Chagny was standing there, hands on hips and sneering down at both of them. Christine gasped and pulled the quilt up to cover her barely decent night-dress. Eric stood up to his full height and faced Raoul determinably. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to rescue Little Lotte!" he demanded. "Now, step aside freak and I will take her without a fuss."

Eric frowned at Raoul. He could understand his anger, but to talk of Christine like she was little more than child too young to understand him? That was unfair. He turned to her. "Do you want to go with Monsieur de Chagny, Christine?"

She shook her head, too frightened to speak.

There was a dead silence.

"You've bewitched her again!" Raoul hissed. "Release her now!"

"She is free to do whatever she wants," muttered Eric, anger rising within his. "Christine wants to stay with me," he said in forced calm.

"I want to hear that from her own lips before this goes any further!"

They both turned to Christine. She opened her mouth, closed it, swallowed and tried again. "I want to be with Eric a little while longer, Raoul…"

The Vicomte seemed to visibly sag. "But…" his lip quivered. "I thought you loved me… Say you love me Christine!"

"I love you, Raoul…" it cut through the Phantom like a knife. "But I'm _in_ love with Eric."

"Christine!" he gasped, suddenly rushing forward and shaking her violently. "You don't know what you're saying! He has you under his spell, come back! Christine, wake up!"

"Eric!" she cried, and Eric jumped into action, grabbed Raoul's shoulders and pulling him forcefully away. "No woman likes to be manhandled!" he yelled. Raoul spun to face him.

"That's rich coming from you!" he shouted. He turned back to Christine. "Don't you remember? He's mad! He killed Buquet and Piangi and God knows how many others!"

Eric bowed his head in shame, not bothering to deny such accusations. He wouldn't blame Christine if she changed her mind there and then. But she stood resolutely by him. "That was a long time ago, Raoul and he's changed. And he was desperate then. A man in love but shunted to the side like it didn't matter. How would you feel? You yourself said you'd kill a thousand men to please me!"

"Yes, but I only meant…"

"Get out!" she commanded. "Leave us! And don't you dare trouble us again!"

He stood there, petrified, his mouth hanging open stupidly like he couldn't really comprehend what she was saying. She put her arms round Eric and laid her head on his chest, tears coming down and dampening his shirt. This was probably the hardest thing for her to do, thought Eric. To stand up to him, to hurt him like this.

"Leave, before you cause any more damage, monsieur…"

That goaded him into speech. "You think you have the last laugh, Phantom," he spat. "But remember, I can pull tricks like you!" and laughing maniacally, he flicked his wrist and disappeared with an explosion of emerald smoke. Eric cursed. That was his last bottle and it was hell trying to collect the right ingredients to make more. He should have seen Raoul stretch over and take it from the shelf beside the door. How could he have been so stupid? Oh well, good riddance to bad rubbish! He thought.

Christine had wandered over to examine the green splash on the floor where the power had liquidated and vaporised, creating a puff of smoke. Then she looked up, gasping and clutching her heart. "Blake…!" she whispered. He followed her gaze, only to see something that made his insides vanish as quickly as Raoul had.

Blake was hanging by a rope, the Punjab Lasso, from the cave ceiling, his eyes wide and staring at nothing, unmistakably dead. Christine burst into tears and buried her face in Eric's shirt again but Eric just looked up at his friend with a growing sense of horror. Raoul surely wasn't responsible for this! But remembering the way he laughed madly and his last words…

_You think you have the last laugh, Phantom. But remember, I can pull tricks like you!_

"We've got to get out of here," he told Christine.

She nodded. "Where do you have in mind?"

He pondered. "Out of the Opera House, out of Paris, out of France, even…"

She looked up at him. "I've always wanted to go to Scotland," she said. He embraced her. "Then Scotland it is, my angel!"


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12 Goodbyes 

She went to get changed as he began to grab everything in sight and stuff it into a worn old leather suitcase. When she had come back, Eric had stuffed it to overflowing and was looking at it dismally.

"It seems we will have to travel light," he told her, tipping it over and emptying it out on the floor.

"Alright," she soothes, massaging his shoulders in an attemp to calm him. "What do we actually _need_?"

He shrugged. "Food…?"

"No," she shook her head. "We've got plenty of money. We can buy stuff like that on the road. Pack some clothes and this will be useful and…" she continued to instruct him in the art of packing until they had filled about three-quarters of the case. "Now you can pack whatever you want," she grinned and, kissing him on the cheek, left him to it.

He took a mask of its rack and put it on his face. Christine could pout all she wanted but he didn't need to be stared at in horror all the way down every street and he could attract all kinds of horror with a face like that. He picked up the monkey music box. There was no way that was being left behind. A violin (in pieces) was in turn nestled in the case carefully. He slyly stuffed a pistol in a side pocket. You never know, he thought to himself.

He had got the pistol from Blake's body. He had cut it down and it was now lying on a long couch. Eric had retrieved his lasso and that also went in the suitcase when Christine wasn't looking. He was sad about his friend. He had been a nice singer, a rare friend and a loyal companion. He was sure Blake would have gone with them and though Christine was fine company, Eric still wished he could have a male chum to talk to, laugh with. He had never had one before, even when he was a small child still living in his rich manor. His mother had locked him away from the world. In fact Blake was probably the closest thing to any friendly human contact apart from Christine.

He fingered the place where she had kissed him. On his good cheek. He could still feel the cloud soft whisper of her breath. Oh, how he loved her!

She came back from the bedroom again with a little bag of her own, undoubtedly filled with woman needs. Soaps, towels, skin creams, make-up, hairbrush, shoes, God knows what. He took his case and got into the boat with her. They would leave Blake to be found by the police when Raoul came back with another angry mob only to find that they had flitted to pastures new. It was awkward to steer the boat with both Christine and the two cases on board, but they managed, luckily without capsizing.

They got to the opposite bank and Eric stopped, looking back longingly.

"Do you still think it will be there when I get back…?" he sighed.

"I don't think you will be coming back, Eric," she told him. He looked at her desperately. But she just shook her head. "You've lived here all your life. It's time to move on. We can come back to visit, but we can't live here."

He continued to stare back at his lakeside home and couldn't help but feel a stab of sorrow. This was the place he had written all his operas, ballets, musicals and plays. The place he had slept and ate every night alone. The place he had recently met his first friends. That was the organ he used to plat Don Juan. That was the swan bad where he had laid Christine after singing her to sleep. Could he really pull himself away from the past and face a future, frightening and unknown. In the Opera House, he was the king of the Melody, Lord of the Dance, Phantom of the Opera. Could he really step into a world where he was no more important that the next man?

He looked at Christine and smiled. Yes, he could. With her by his side, he envied no man. He was the king of the world with his queen by his side. He could do anything with her supporting him. Watch out world, the Phantom has crawled out of his hole, has abandoned his usual haunt and is going to spread his fantasies throughout the Earth!

They came to the basements of the Opera House. Where the kitchens and stores and pantries were. Christine and Eric crept through carefully avoiding the stage hands and other servants rushing here and there about there business. He was leading her to a secret passage that would lead them up to the outside.

"My prince…?" came a little voice from behind them making them jump out of their skins. Eric wheeled around to find the little girl who brought him his meals.

"Where are you going, prince?" he chirruped. Nobody was around so Eric smiled to her and bet down to face her. He stroked her hair and she giggled nervously.

"The prince has rescued his fairy princess," he explained, gesturing to Christine. "So now, he's going back to his palace in his own kingdom…"

She clapped her hands and squealed happily. "Goodbye, my prince! She's very beautiful! Goodbye and live happily ever after like in all the stories you told me!"

He kissed her clumsily on the forehead and she blushed. She watched them go, climbing through the secret passageway. Christine was looking at him strangely, but only when the girl was out of earshot did she voice her question.

"I never knew you liked children…"

He laughed out loud. "Well, that depends on the child!" he roared. "We were all children once, were we not? Whether we were living in a rank steel cage or a lovely house in the country somewhere!"

"Actually, a was singing with my father on street corners, earning but pennies…"

He stopped walking. "Are you being serious?" he asked. "A lovely angle like you, a beggar?"

She looked away, embarrassed. "My father was the most perfect violinist in the world but as we traveled, he would not accept fame. He was so damn modest, you wouldn't believe! Anyway, I sang with him and lived in his trailer and survived as best I could until he died. Madame Giry took me in treated me like a daughter. I was given a job as a chorus girl here and well, you know the rest." She was blushing now. "I know this must sound terrible to one of your wealth. You must have been living with quite a rich cultural family until you lived in the Opera House…"

"What?" he was laughing again. "Didn't you hear me?" he had begun walking again. "Yes, I was born into a rich family but my father ran away when he saw the face of his own baby boy and my mother, though she fed and clothed me, didn't hate me. She loathed me! I ran away from home and was picked up by a cruel circus owner who whipped and beat me…" his voice had run down into a sad sort of monotone, like he was talking on auto-pilot. "I killed my master and ran away with the help of Madame Giry. It seems she was a true mother to both of us. I have been here ever since."

After sharing their dismal past with each other, they fell into uneasy silence. They soon reached the outside, where in the bright sunlight, Christine couldn't keep her tongue any longer. "But how do you know how to sing and dance and write and build and all the things that make you the Phantom?"

He didn't look at her but only answered with a deal. "I'll answer that question if you tell me when you met Raoul…"

She shrugged. They had begun to walk to the train station and they had plenty of time on their hands. "I was walling down the beach with my father when my favourite red scarf was blown into the sea. A boy, who was with a rich lady, his mother, finely dressed and on an outing ran into the freezing sea and retrieved it. He was handsome and we would run around the town where my father and I were staying, looking for old biddies to tell us stories, for we loved a good story. The boy was Raoul and I fell in love with him as easily as a fish learns how to swim.

"He loved all the stories about adventurers and explorers and knights in shining armour and great quests. But my favourite story was one my father told us. It went something like…" she thought a while.

" "Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing. Her hair was golden as the sun rays and her soul as clear and blue as her eyes. She wheedled her mother, was kind to her doll, and took great care of her frock and her little red shoes and her fiddle. But most of all loved, when she went to sleep…","

" "To hear the Angel of Music…"," Eric finished for her.

She blushed again. "Now it's your turn!" she demanded.

He frowned. "My mother made a present out of my first mask, but I hated the damn thing. It shamed me to wear it. I ran away from home, taking most of my mother's money and possessions. I ran all over Europe until a Czar hired me to build his palace because I had a wild imagination and ideas of wonderful secret passageways and traps. I designed and help build all of them. Of course, then the Czar figured I knew too much so he had me put to death."

"Oh, how awful!" Christine gasped.

"I will not deny that I was terrified. But luckily I had a good friend then called the Persian. He never revealed his name to me, but I had saved his life from a falling building and he helped me escaped from the Czars prison. I think I must have been but a boy, maybe fifteen, so he was more a big brother to me than a friend. At any rate, another Czar, a rival of the last, saw my great fighting skills and hired me as a full time gladiator. Prisoners bound for the hangman were put against me in all sorts of armour and weaponry and me with nothing but my Punjab Lasso. I would win every time.

"But I soon became too good. The Czar who had hired me became frightened that I might become a powerful warlord and so had me put to death for a second time. The Persian, a noble man, wore my mask and took my place so I could escape yet a second time. I ran to France where I sang on street corners, like you once did. It was then I found I had a voice that could put all other human sounds to shame. But the circus owner passing through who found me lying in the gutter failed to notice, though I begged and begged because singing was my only talent. I wanted to do nothing but sing. So my master at the time locked me in a cage and showed my face off to jeering peasants…"

Eric hung his head, ashamed. "Those were the worst days of my life. I was at my lowest. My mask was destroyed. In Russia, when I served the Czar, everyone wore funny clothes and masks weren't uncommon. No one cared that I was ugly. Here in the damned country, everyone saw me as a freak. Someone less than human because I had not the handsome features they had, not the expensive clothes or shoes. Because I was different, I was shunned and treated like an animal.

"It was then, Madame Giry rescued me and I've known nothing else of life since then, but the Opera House. And Christine, you must understand, hiding in the cellars, stealing food and whatnot, I got quite a lot of ideas about the harsh world that had turned it's back on me and so I turned my back on the world. I studied music and books and magic, finding that I could not only sing but had a flare for playing and writing music. With the tricks and potions I had learned I set about creating a reputation around myself. That is how I became the Phantom of the Opera."

Christine hadn't taken her eyes off him all through his narrative and was still staring his in awe and a new respect. He put his arm around her and forced a smile. "But do not ponder on a history that no longer effects us."

She nodded and this time, they spoke nothing, having exhausted their voices and given the other a lot to think about. They got on a clean, well ordered train and sat down, waiting patiently for the train to start.

**As you may have noticed, this story is getting increasingly more romantic. I don't know where this will end. This chapter was mainly for those who have not read the book, so sorry if i bored the rest of you. Also, i tried and tried not to contradict what i said earlier when i say that Blake was Erics 1st and only friend when i mention the Persian, i just want to assure that that relationship was mainly Master/servant-like and that the Persain wasn't a real friend!**

**Most of what Christine tells Eric is true and Vice Versa. her father did tell her about the angle of music and Raoul did fetch her scarf out of the sea. eric did live with a rich family and build palaces for Czars and battle with criminals with nothing but his Punjab and live for many years with a circus. the only difference is, Eric had his own ventriliquist act and was not treated badly. In fact, he got quite a bit of money out of it. I only got the beating part out of the movie. Also, the Persian doesn't replace Eric and die but remains with him most of his lief. I made that part up!**

**I have mainly focused on the Phantom of the Opera. From this chapter on, i will be focusing mainly on Cats. For those who have never heard the music or seen the stage show, then i will make it as enjoyable and easy to follow but exciting enough that you Cats fans out there will not find it boring. Thanks. I have noticed that a lot of people have visited this site (that is to say, i have a lot of "Hits") But please, i need more reviews. Don't be shy. Insult me if you need to but some more reviews would really ispire me to write a lot more!**

**yours**

**The Phantom of Quill and Ink!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Here! This is the 13th chapter of my phan fic. For those who are actually interested, then i've figured out an ending and perhaps a beginning of a sequal to this phan fic. I may or may not write it... depnding on my mood and comitment to the characters. Don't hold your breath. you will see the ending but maybe not the sequal. i need a break before a start another... **

**Sorry for the wait but there was a slight problem with my computer. It's all fixed now. Also, i'd like to mention now that i am back at school, i am finding it encreasingly difficult to complete a chapter a day. Forgive me but this is not my fault and i'd like to thank you in advance for your patience so far. If you have got this far, then thank you for reading but i need reviews, i cannot continue writing this if i don't know what you guys think of it. You could hate it and i have no idea. Please share your praise or dissatisfaction with me. (don't keep it all bottled up, for goodness sake!)**

**Disclaimer - just to remind you, i am not Andrew Lloyd Webber. i am merely a mortal human who worships his greatness and tries to imitate his greatness with these phan fics!**

**without further ado... enjoy!!**

Chapter 13

Skimbleshanks!

Erik couldn't remember falling asleep. But he woke with the gentle rocking of the train. Weak morning sunlight was steaming in and reflecting off his mask and Christine's honey locks, her satin skin. Her head was resting on his chest and she was fast asleep. He was frightened that his increased heartbeat would wake her but she slept on, lulled by the rising and falling of his chest.

How could any human being be so lovely? Erik wondered for the umpteenth time. His heart aches with love. He carefully lifted his hand and gently, ever so gently stroked her hair lightly, rejoicing in its warmth and softness. She was curled up in his cloak and they were lying flat out on the train seat. He sleepily ran her fingers down his side and he kissed her forehead as she nuzzled further into his chest and he sighed with almost unbearable pleasure.

_Would Sir like some breakfast now?_

He almost jumped out of his skin. Christine stirred at his gasp of surprise but didn't wake up. He carefully and oh so slowly lifted her and sat her up gently, pushing himself upright. He face crumpled with irritation and he was frightened she would finally wake but she settled and began to breathe deeply again. God, the events of yesterday must have really taken their toll on her, he thought.

He turned his head sideways to get a good look at who was speaking. To his surprise, it wasn't a conductor or ticket collector but a large and handsome tomcat. Ginger with lighter stripes and an almost posh face and a manner of holding himself. The cat smiled at him mischievously. Erik frowned at him, annoyed. Not another cat!

_Would Sir like some breakfast now?_ The cat repeated.

It was only then that Erik realized how hungry he was. His belly ached with hunger and his mouth was dry. "Yes, I would like some eggs, bacon, tomatoes, sausages, toast…" he waved his hand vaguely. "Anything else you can think of in there." 

The cat nodded and was about to leave when he turned back, as though just remembering something. _And for the lady, Sir?_

Erik blushed. How could he have forgotten about Christine? "Well…" he said slowly. "She's sleeping now but I suppose if you can get some tea and I could share some of mine when she wakes up…"

_Very good, Sir._

The cat left. As much as he hated his self for doing so, he laid a hand on Christine's shoulder and shook it gently.

"Christine…?" he whispered softly in her ear. "Angel…?"

She stirred, he eyelids raising slowly. She sighed, (Erik's heart did a sudden somersault at the sound!) and stretched, her body rubbing against his. She smiled at him and he smiled back automatically.

"I just woke up from the best ever dream," she explained. "You swept me off my feet and carried me out of the Opera House and away into a train to Scotland…!" she woke up properly and looked around the compartment and then back up at her angel, slowly realizing that the dream was in fact, reality. She smiled again, broader and full of joy and carefree happiness.

The cat had returned, this time with a young, spotty steward, carrying a tray laden with breakfast. Erik's stomach growled at the powerful smell of cooked eggs and bacon and Christine's eyes widened at the sight of the food and licked her lips hungrily. The steward politely divided up the food into two equal piles and placed them neatly on the little plastic table. He even bowed out the room when he had finished. The cat lingered by the door, however.

_Would Sir like anything else?_

"No," he replied. "I am quite satisfied."

The cat turned to leave. But Erik called him back. The cat sat back down on the floor patiently and waited, fixing Erik with his grass green eyes. "My name," he said, "is Erik. Erik Destler. What should I call you?"

_Skinbleshanks! _The cat chirruped, flicking his tail happily.

"Oh, he's so sweet," said Christine. She lowered her hand and offered Skimble a bit of bacon respectfully. He sniffed it doubtfully before gobbling it up smartly. He then licked her hand thankfully and purred. Christine cooed and petted him. Erik, without any more ado, began to wolf down his breakfast like he hadn't eaten well in several days.

When he had finished, Christine now had Skinbleshanks on her lap and was stroking him lovingly. Erik hid a snigger behind his hand.

"How long will it take us to get to the coast?" he asked the cat.

_I don't know. Maybe about another 15 minutes. Maybe more. _

"Sure," he said, scratching the ginger's ears.

They all jumped suddenly when a formal looking man in a conductors uniform stood in the doorway and ordered sternly, "Skinble! The driver wants you! And what are you doing dilly-dallying with the passengers? Eh? Come on, back to work you go!"

Skinbleshanks leapt off Christine's lap immediately and rushed off dutifully down the corridor. Christine looked a little crestfallen that her little friend had to go so quickly. The conductor tipped his hat to them and left Christine to finish the remainder of her rapidly cooling breakfast.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer - i don't need to remind you that i am the Phantom of Quill and Ink and not Lloyd Webber. Do i? Anyway, i am not the guenious who created the Phantom or Christine or Joseph's technicolour dream coat. Or Skimbleshanks which is from Cats. Wait a minute! Andrew Lloyd Webber created niether Phantom or Christine. That was Gaston Leroux. But that is niether here nor there... **

**Anyhoo... Enjoy!!**

Chapter 14 "Christine? Can I ask you something?"

They were to board a ferry to cross the English Channel. From there, they would get another train to Scotland. It would be a long odious journey and they would need a guide to keep them right. Erik went in search of such a guide that afternoon. He had plenty of money and finding one that knew the lay of the land couldn't be that difficult. Christine was with him because she had nowhere to go anyway. He stopped a man in the street to ask for help but when he saw Erik's white mask, he shook his head and continued walking. He saw a shop owner, selling fine silks from the Holy Land but when Erik approached, he gasped at the mask and put a up closed sign, even though it wasn't two in the afternoon yet.

He sighed, giving it up as a bad job, and went back to Christine, a grave look marring his face. Christine echoed his sigh and went to try again with another passer-by. This time, they got a little bit more success. The man smiled at Christine and pointed down the street.

"Just to your left there, you can't miss it. They'll hand over a decent guide for the British Isles and some stuff you might need."

"Thank you," she smiled sweetly, batting her eyelashes. Erik scowled. Christine took him by the hand and led him over to where the man had been pointing. A simple wooden stall squatted by a large stone building, selling robes and cloaks and other clothes.

"I better go get a better disguise while we travel, otherwise someone might recognize me and I don't want trouble!" he told Christine.

"Surely no one will know who you are so far from Paris?" she laughed. He did not share her light-hearted view. He went over to the stall owner and this time actually got some service.

"Well, sir," the man grinned, showing black brown teeth. "Would you like a cloak?" he glanced at the warm fur cape on the Phantom's shoulders and shook his head. "No, I guess not. What about some nice new boots…?" he looked down and saw Erik standing it proud, strong leather boots. "…Or perhaps a lovely hat for the lady…?" and then he saw Christine in a beautiful white bonnet topped with a silk white rose. "…Perhaps not… How about a nice gold watch or maybe…"

"I would like a coat," explained Erik. "Something that would make me blend in with the crowd or at least stop anyone recognizing me."

"Ah, now," bustled the stall owner, rummaging around in a beaten old cupboard. "If you're looking for a disguise, I've got exactly what you're looking for!"

He emerged with a dusty old coat. It was long and woolen and looked _itchy! _Erik couldn't remember ever wearing itchy clothing and he certainly wasn't going to start now!

"I want to look like a gentleman, not a beggar," he persisted.

"Oh, well," he went back to rooting through all his stock. He stopped then and sighed. "There is something," he went on reluctantly. "Very special, very expensive. Took years to make. Used to belong to a man, Joseph he was, but was lost and only found this century…" The man seemed really displeased at the thought of parting with it.

"How much is it…?" prompted Erik gently.

He stood bolt upright and declared, "20, 000 francs, sir!" thinking that no man could possibly afford such a payment. Erik was immediately intrigued. What man would price a mere coat at 20, 000 francs? "Let's see it, then," he ordered. The stall owner's face fell from a triumphant grin to a distressed frown.

He pulled it up from the cupboard and held it up for the Phantom to see it clearly. It was not just one colour, but thousands. Each blending into the other in perfect harmony. Erik didn't know much about art but he new enough to figure out that this belonged in a museum. It went from the deepest midnight blacks to the brightest white, from blood reds to ocean blues to shocking pinks. Erik, who usually wore black and only black, hated it!

"No thank you, I will go as I am."

"Very good, Sir," the man sighed with relief. His whole body actually seemed to deflate as he let the air out. Erik returned to Christine only to see her hiding a snigger behind her hand.

"Well, would you have worn that?" he demanded incredulously.

She shrugged. "At least no one would have recognized you," she said.

He smiled happily at her and linked his arm through hers, leading her to the large official stone building. Suddenly Erik tripped up, almost dragging Christine down with him. He looked down and saw the same ginger tabby that had served him on the train twisting around his ankles leisurely.

"What are you doing?" hissed the Phantom, regaining his balance.

The cat, Skinbleshanks, meowed innocently. _I followed you. _

"Why?" said Christine, frowning.

The cat stared up at her with huge grassy eyes. _I'm on holiday. The trains have stopped running over the weekend and I've got loads of spare time on my hands. _

"Well, we don't!" muttered Erik menacingly. "So you can just…" he realized something. "Hey! Is that a Scottish accent?"

Skinble curled his tail round himself defensively. _Yes… Why…? In fact, I'm on a business trip here. I usually live there. I know the place like the back of my paw!_

Christine and Erik both shared the same knowing smiles.

"Well," Erik began. "You see, me and my…" he struggled for a suitable word and surprised himself by saying, "…wife are moving to Scotland and we need a guide to show us about the country."

Christine blushed but to his delight, she didn't correct him.

_Well then, _said Skinble. _I would be glad to help. When are you catching the ferry?_

"We have about half an hour, maybe twenty minutes."

_Great! We can start by getting rid of that mask._

"What?"

_You may get away with looking strange in France but Scotland won't stand for it!_

Erik shook his head. "In that case, I might want to keep this mask. Trust me…" he grinned sheepishly. "I look much worse without it!"

_To tell you the truth, I think all humans are ugly but if you're sure, then go ahead and keep the damn thing…_

Erik was actually getting quite tired of the cat by now. But Christine thought he was just darling. So, for that reason alone, did Erik let him stay with them. He found he actually liked his attitude, his constant good mood. It was uplifting and a nice change from the gloomy cellars of the Opera House to be out and about in the sunshine. He soon found himself wondering what he might look like with a tan!

Time passed quickly with Skinbleshanks for company. Almost in no time, they were boarding the ferry. Erik had had about twenty-five minutes to think about what he had said earlier. He had called his angel his "wife"! And though it was really just an accident, he was starting to warm to the idea. He had never been to a wedding before. He had of course learnt the wedding and funeral songs (you never know!) as part of his practice, but to actually sing them? Christine Daae… Christine Destler…? He shook himself. It was a silly idea! And yet…

"Christine?" he called suddenly. "Can I ask you something?"

She paused on the deck, about to look over the edge. The ferry hadn't set sail yet but she wanted to get a last look at the town they were leaving. Skinble had disappeared below deck magically on queue and the deck was deserted. It was just the two of them, standing awkwardly by the rails.

"Anything, angel…"

His mouth instantly went dry. He didn't know what to say. He had read about proposals but the courage he needed seemed to have vanished when he needed it most. He began to fidget and his insides seemed to abandon him to his dreaded fate.

"Christine, I…" He paused, his heart beating uncomfortably in his throat. He couldn't speak, his throat was clogged. He tried to clear it but failed. He took a deep breath and started again. "I've been wanting to ask you something for a very long time…" And as soon as he said it, he knew it was true. Even as he sat in his lair, writing such songs as _Angel of Music _and _All I ask of you,_ all those years ago,he had imagined her in a white wedding dress and veil, walking slowly down the isle.

"Oh, Christine…" And he began to sing, the song he had never finished, and they were back on stage, Erik with a shiny black mask. The night she had revealed him and set the whole amazing and sometimes frightening ride off.

_"Say you'll share with me _

_One love, one lifetime_

_Lead me_

_Save me from my solitude_

_Say you'll want me with you_

_Here, beside you_

_Anywhere you go_

_Let me go too – _

_Christine…"_

He took a deep breath and boomed the next line, almost expecting to be interrupted again.

_"That's all I ask of you!"_

He sank to one knee and took both her fragile hands in his big rough ones. He reached into his pocket and produced a ring. The same wedding ring he had given her all those years ago. The same one she returned to him. A diamond, perfectly cut and beautiful, on a simple white gold band.

She gasped audibly.

"Christine…" he breathed. "My angel… Will you marry me?"

"Oh…" she gasped. "Oh, Erik…!" Her face lit up in a wonderful smile, so delicate and bright like the diamond, her eyes reflecting his love in clear soft perfect blue circles. "Of course I will!"

**I was actually thinking of making this a cliff hanger. You know? "Will you marry me?" "Oh, Eric..." ... and leave it at that, leaving the reader (you) in suspence to what her answer would be. but to tell you the truth, we all knew she would say "Yes" so what was the point of beating about the bush and using up too much space in the next chapter? Also, fogive me but the beginning of this chapter is a bit weak and random. i think i was having a bit of a ditached day where i couldn't consentrate. So sorry if it doesn't really sound like me. Trust me, it doesn't! Not even to me! Oh coarse, by the time i got to the proosal, i was in my stride and that was completely effortless to write. **

**But (between you and me) i was almost as nervous as Erik when i wrote it, thinking "i hope i get this right...!" **


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15 The Alleyway 

His brain froze. He hardly dared to think of what had just happened. Did she just say "yes"? Did she? Or had it been all an elaborate fantasy of his and she a merely refused? He got up slowly, his legs shaky, and stared into his love's (his wife-to-be's?) eyes. They stayed that way for several minutes before Christine asked nervously, "Do you not want to put the ring on my finger…?"

He came to with an abrupt bump. She had said yes! It wasn't all a dream, he had been right! She loved him! His angel loved him enough to spend the rest of her life with him! She would have no other! She would have only him!!

His face burst into a handsome beam, his entire face lighting up like the sun, with pure adoration, happiness and love. More love than he had ever felt in his life. The same electric happiness that filled him when Christine kissed him. She was the only woman on Earth that would let him kiss her. Even his own mother, who would slap him like a naughty dog and throw his mask at him, would not let him touch her. But this lovely, stunning creature would _marry_ him, share his heart, soul, and music.

She grinned with him as he slid the ring up her elegant white finger with trembling hands and she kissed him, their bodies pressed together passionately. The sun set romantically in the background, painting the sky passion red and deep purple, like an explosion of fireworks to celebrate their union.

They separated and Christine sang,

_"Erik, I love you…!"_

He shook his head wonderingly. This was beyond belief. He took her hands in his and let her away to their shared cabin, wishing a little more privacy to share their true and eternal love…

Erik had decided. This was a new beginning. He was no longer the man he had been. No longer a skulking ghost of the Opera House. No longer the frightened child, hiding from humanity, filled with hate and distrust. No longer the bitter composer who wrote songs of sadness and loneliness and solitude and death. No longer the nervous kid, pining for his angel's love. And no longer the Phantom of the Opera, the cruel, evil man who spied on Christine through a tinted mirror and played humiliating tricks on Carlotta.

He was a new Erik Destler. In a couple of days, Christine had undone the damage done by 20 _years _of painful, lonely childhood, of miserable, cold and empty nights, of hatred and confusion. Where the only humans he had ever known had shunned him, treated him like a stupid, rabid animal, meant to be no more than locked away and forgotten. He would, from now on, be the confidant, talented and loved man he was born to be. This would start with trust. As Christine had trusted him, he would now trust others.

He got up, noticing that Christine had woken before him and had left. He found her in the bathroom, now dressed in flimsy night clothes and washing her face in the tiny wooden basin. He crept up behind her and snaked his arm round her waist. With a frightened squeal, she was pulled towards him. When she saw who it was, she immediately relaxed against him, kissing his lips playfully. His heart fluttered.

_"Good morning, my angel_

_How was your slumber?_

_With me by your side_

_Sleeping…?"_

He grinned at her improvised lyrics to his favourite _Angel of Music. _"Why don't you try…

_"Morning…_

_Angel…_

_Be my love forever_

_Dawn…_

_Brings hope…_

_Soft and warm and tender_

_For you, my love has grown_

_Into sunlight, I have shown,_

_I no longer need the dark to aid my flight_

_For we have made the music of the night…"_

She blushed happily, not really embarrassed, he cheeks filling with rosy colour.

"_We've past the point of no return…_

_The joy, the wonder_

_I've done it all with not a backward glance!"_

He joined her, trying not to snigger.

"_Past the point of no return_

_We've loved and fought to take our final chance!_

_Can we look back on our past now?_

_At all the pain we've faced and shared?_

_When love has won_

_Our hearts, our joys, our fears_

_To pass the point of no return…"_

And, unable to keep straight faces any longer, they burst out laughing, falling into each other's arms. Erik's full rich laugh was like melted chocolate. Hers, a tinkling bell.

Erik helped the men with the sails, the engines, and all the jobs that needed an athletic, strong man not afraid of hard labour. It was hard but he felt good to be helping out and his mind was constantly lingering on the upcoming wedding.

Christine was equally excited about the big event. She and the other womenfolk gushed about dresses and cakes and who to invite and whether or not Erik would look good in a traditional tuxedo.

Meanwhile, Skimble would follow the former Phantom around the ship, sometimes helping him and sometimes just getting in the way. There was a reason, Erik thought, that Skimble was a railway cat and not a shipping cat. But soon, Skimble went off on his own to talk to the cat who lived in the ship. A burly, brutal looking cat called Growltiger. His coat was torn and seedy and he peered out at Skinble with one forbidding eye.

Erik shuddered, thinking that he would never go speak to a cat like that. He crushed the thought instantly, remembering his own distortion. He shrugged. Who was he to pass judgement?

_Growltiger…? _Skimble asked apprehensively out of Erik's earshot. _Can I talk to you…?_

_It's a free world, is it not? _Grunted the mean looking cat sarcastically. Skimble took this as a "yes" and proceeded to outline his plans.

_I have an idea, _he said. _I want to take Erik, the man in the white mask to the Jellicle Alleyway. You know? And introduce him to the other Jellicles. I'm their guide see and I wanted to show them where I live and my friends and all that… But you're an older cat and you know better than me and…_

_Sure as hell I know better than you do! _Snorted Growltiger nastliy.

_Anyway, _continued Skimble nervously. _I am looking for your approval. What do you think about showing him the Jellicles?_

_I think you're mad, _scoffed the old sea cat. _But it's not up to me. Remember, I am not part of the Jellicle community any more. You'll have to take this up with ol' Deuteronomy if you want answers._

_Right!_ Skimble nodded in agreement. _Well, I'm taking him anyway!_

So when the ferry finally landed in the south of England and when they made their way swiftly to Scotland, (it was an easy ride on the train and due to Skimble's friends at the railway yard, they got extra nice carriages and brilliant fresh food) Skimble led them immediately to the Jellicles alleyway somewhere in Glasgow.

It was about 5 o'clock but due to the rough Scotland weather, it seemed much later. It was already starting to get dark. Christine held onto her Angels arms tightly and he put a protective arm around her.

The alleyway itself was strangely dark but fry. A huge wrecked automobile sat crookedly, pressed against the alley wall. Assorted tires, cans, bottles, packets and other strange junk littered the alley floor in no particular order. The walls were plain brick and dirty. Because the alley was covered with a huge sheet, flapping overhead like a tattered banner, everything was perfectly dry. Even though it was pouring with cold sheets of water outside. The only light came from a thousand bright cats' eyes. Blue, yellow, amber, green eyes stared back at them, flashing a warning.

Skimbleshanks trotted in confidently. He was confronted by an angry voice which seemed to come from an overturned bin in the corner.

_Who are they? You have brought humans to our lair, Skimble!_

_No, no, _he explained. _I vouch for them. They are welcome._

_I will be the judge of that!_

A handsome tabby tomcat sprang from the bin and sauntered forward until he was directly facing the newcomers. Erik recognised him immediately. "Munkustrap!" Tommy looked up at him curiously. Then his face widened into a cat's grin and he purred happily. _Erik!_


	16. Chapter 16

**This is the and of this story and so i'd lie to thank a few people personally. **

**To maddie Jazz - the first real person to review, thank you so much, i couldn't have faced this ending without thinking of you!Thank you**

**To someone, i'll never remember who, who pointed out to me that Erik is in fact spelt with a "K" not a "C". Thank you. And sorry for any previous mistakes!**

**And thank you to Toasty Phantom who has really made me feel welcome as a new writer to this site. thank you!**

**and, last of all, thank you Andrew Lloyd Webber for writing the Phantom of the Opera and enspiring me to write this story to begin with! And for sharing your utter musical talent with us all!!**

Chapter 16 An Ending to the Ghost's Love Story

Erik and Christine bought a house in the first class streets of Glasgow with the remaining 20,000 francs. Though it was a mining town, they were far away from the smoke and debris from the coal mines. Erik got a job in the Scottish Opera House writing musicals, operas and ballets. He soon became quite famous. Not the kind of fame he received as the Phantom of the Opera, but enough to suffice for now. Christine joined him in his writing sometimes but mostly, she was happy to sing his work for him. Flocks of theatre fans fell in love with the young diva and sent her roses and love notes, but she remained forever faithful to her Angel and he to her. Even though he had quite a few would-be suitors of his own!

They visited the Jellicle's alleyway almost every week, making an outing of it. It seemed Munkustrap had run away from the de Chagny household as Raoul had taken to shouting at him for no reason. He was now an important member of the Destler household, an adopted pet. He even offered to sing for Erik in his musicals but Erik politely refused, saying (with a smirk) that the world was not at all ready yet for a chorus of screaming cats!

The Destler wedding was a complete and glorious success. Erik, the dashing groom, spared no expense in the cake, the music, the place and time, and everything else that went into that perfect wedding. They invited all their new friends from the Scottish Opera and Erik had a special solid silver mask mad for the occasion. Christine, the gushing bride, looked stunning in a white, "puff-cloud" floor length dress and veil. Everyone laughed and cheered and threw confetti as Erik kissed his new bride with such excitement and gusto she nearly toppled over!

A year or so later, she gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. He looked up at Erik with innocent, loving blue eyes, just like his. Erik had been worried that his distortion would be passed on to his children, but he was as lovely and sweet as his mother and went on to marry a beautiful young Scottish lass. The families went on visiting the Jellicle's Alley and were even there to give comfort at ol' Deuteronomy's funeral. Erik played a loud trumpet blast to signal the great cat's passing.

Fortunately, however, Munkustrap was next in line and commanded the Jellicles nobly and honourably.

At the good old age of 87, the only true angel of music died. He lay in his love's arms, breathing softly and with his last breath sang,

"Christine… 

_You alone have made my song take flight…_

_It's over now, the music of the night…"_

She removed his mask and he closed his eyes, using the last of his strength to kiss his wife softly, gently. He lay back, groaning quietly, breathed his last… and lay still.

Christine couldn't cry. That wouldn't be what he wanted. Instead, she smiled and even laughed a little with happiness that her angel was in heaven and living out his true paradise that she would be part of very soon.

The only candle in the room reached the end of it's wick, sputtered, and died, swallowing the room in peaceful darkness.

**So long, and fair well for now!**

**The Phantom of Quill and Ink**


End file.
